Stressed Out
by steelcrash
Summary: Prowl gives his leader a much-needed break from stress. G1, oneshot.


Stressed Out

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. They belong to Hasbro and Takara. I am merely taking them for a short spin.

Prowl pulled up to the doors of the Ark, waiting as they clanged open. He drove inside, transforming once he was out of the blowing, howling snowstorm outside. All he wanted at the moment was to remove the ice, snow, mud and road salt from his frame and get some recharge.

That and avoid Optimus Prime, who was driving his second in command as well as the rest of his Autobots, well, nuts. Decepticon attacks and increasing requests from the humans for help along with weather that had turned violent had them all on edge. Spread thin and with tensions high, it was no surprise Prime was near the breaking point. That particular problem was plaguing the tactician, had been for several days. The solution was obvious, but _who _would take care of it was another issue.

"Still thinking about the answer to that problem, Prowler?"

Prowl turned around, seeing Jazz leaning against the doorway to his quarters.

"What problem?"

"The one I know you've been thinking about," Jazz answered.

"You don't know what I'm thinking," Prowl said.

"It's written all over your face," Jazz said.

"Is he around?"

"Somewhere, don't know where. Haven't seen him since he got back with 'Jack and the others this afternoon. He wasn't too happy, come to think of it, considering that bridge nearly fell on them."

Prowl was taken aback at that. He hadn't been in contact with the Ark most of the day, due to helping with search and rescue efforts up in the mountains because of an avalanche.

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Hurt yes, dead, no. None of ours or the humans. Although if he keeps this up, Ratchet'll get involved, and that won't end well at all."

Jazz let those words sink in, waiting for a response. And he didn't get one.

"Y'know, I'm sure the twins wouldn't mind," Jazz said.

"I'd like the Ark to remain standing," Prowl said.

Jazz chuckled, watching his friend start to walk away, but he wasn't done. Yet.

"You could do it yourself. No shame in it," Jazz said.

Prowl stopped, just a second, sighed and kept going.

He made it to the wash racks and out without being accosted by anyone, even stopped at his office to pick up the data pads holding unfinished reports. And almost made it down the hallway. Almost.

From behind him, he heard footsteps.

"Prowl, my office. _Now_."

The last word was said with an emphasis usually reserved for Decepticons or anyone on the end of a reaming, not him. He turned, backtracking to the office he'd just passed. He entered, hoping whatever Prime had to say was brief.

Prime stood in front of his desk, arms crossed. Not good, Prowl reflected.

His leader was radiating stress and hostility they were probably picking up onboard the Nemesis, but there was nothing he could, or would do about it, besides what he was trying now. That particular thought he found. . .distasteful.

"Prowl, is there anything the matter?" Prime asked, noting the look on his second in command's face.

Nothing standing point-blank in front of Megatron's fusion cannon wouldn't take care of, he thought.

"Just thinking about the reports I have to finish," Prowl answered.

Prime nodded, seeming to accept the answer.

"Was there something you wanted?" Prowl finally said.

"Just checking to see how things went on your end today."

"No lives lost, and next time, they plan on listening to our recommendations ahead of time. Will there be anything else?" Prowl said, imploring Primus to let him leave the room.

"Yes. If you don't mind, my desk terminal's been acting up all day, and considering Wheeljack is in the medbay and Ratchet is busy with that, I haven't had a chance to get it looked at. And the officials at the base are wanting to know what supplies we need to help them with the repairs after the last attack, and they wanted the list yesterday," Prime said.

Prowl vented slowly before walking over to the desk.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked.

Prime sat down, starting up the terminal. It flared to life for a second, then died.

"Has it been doing that all along?"

"No, that's new."

Prowl leaned forward, hitting a few keys. The terminal re-started, and stayed on this time.

"Thank you," Prime said.

"You're welcome," Prowl said, placing a hand on Prime's shoulder as he stood back up.

Prime went to move the chair back, elbowing one of Prowl's door wings in the process. He felt the mech flinch in pain.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching out for the spot.

His gentle touch was like a caress, a bit of physical contact unlike any other Prowl had had in a very long time. And it was being caused by his commanding officer. He respected Prime, considered him among his friends. They were bound by a common purpose, and he knew they were equals, as were all Autobots. But. . .he'd never considered him anything else. And given Prowl's own discomfort regarding the more physical aspects of intimate relationships, he'd shunned all advances.

He reached out to remove Prime's hand, but the bigger mech, thinking it an invitation, pulled Prowl into his lap so he straddled him. Prowl started to pull away but Prime settled his hands on his waist, holding him in place.

"Not so fast, Prowl," Prime said, running a hand up one of Prowl's door wings, eliciting a sharp gasp.

"I. . ."

"You what?" Prime asked, retracting his battle mask, placing a kiss on the startled Prowl's lips.

Prowl reluctantly returned the kiss, resigning himself that if he had to, he might as well finish what he didn't mean to start.

As they kissed, Prime moved his hands up and down Prowl's back and door wings, eliciting a sigh from the mech. Prowl began to reciprocate with the touches, trailing his hand's over the armor of Prime's chest and mid-section.

Prime was slow and gentle as he brought Prowl to the edge and back again until it was almost more than they could both stand.

Feeling the charge growing between them, Prowl wrapped his legs around Prime, struggling to get as close as he could.

"Open your chest plates," Prime rasped.

Prowl did as he was told and Prime did the same, holding Prowl to him. He pulled his head down for another kiss as their sparks touched. Suddenly, Prowl was lost, unable to tell where he ended and Prime began. Seconds stretched into oblivion as they merged, energy crackling between them. As quickly as it began, it was over.

Prowl slowly came back to his senses, realizing he was sitting in Prime's lap. In Prime's office. He had enjoyed himself. And he didn't care.

The next morning

Jazz walked down the hall humming to himself, stopping when he heard the door to Prime's office slide open. It was early, but it wasn't unusual for the big bot to be up so early working. But what was unusual was Prowl was leaving. With a smile on his face.


End file.
